


Should Have Locked It

by electricblueninja



Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is awkward about feelings, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Learning To Communicate, M/M, overdue conversations are happening, smut on the way, working on self-acceptance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27844336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Summary: It's about as natural as putting banana flavouring in milk, but Cas insists on a conversation. And banana milk is kind of good, anyway.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Conversation Starters For Couples [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033494
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Should Have Locked It

"Do we?" Dean retorts, his characteristic churlishness trying to re-emerge, though somewhat muted.

"I feel that we should."

I also feel that Dean is moderately aroused. The sensation of him against my leg makes me respond in kind, almost straight away. Physicality can be...inconvenient.

"Can't we just do it again?" he says, a plaintive note creeping into his tone. It would be almost childish, except that the topic is most definitely Adult.

I sense that he needs reassurance, so I start with that. "I would like that, Dean. Very much." I let my fingers trail down his sides to rest on the subtle curve of his waist, then slide them backwards, applying gentle pressure to the hard knots of muscle either side of his spine with my fingertips. "However, we still need to talk about what happened."

The pressure of my fingertips is weakening him. He is a hard man, both literally and figuratively. He accepts the obvious pleasures of the flesh, but he does not give himself the time to experience more subtle things, like letting someone else's touch ease away the tension he carries in parts of his body not directly involved with sexual release. But I feel the way his muscles shift under my hands. His body craves care, and I would like very much to provide it. I wonder, should I tell him so, after we have addressed the...what is the expression?...the elephant in the room? I don't know. He might allow me to care for him; he might not. 

He is always so focused on goals; outcomes; gratification. The prospect of teaching him otherwise, of watching him learn about gentler pleasures, sends a shudder through me, and dangerous visions of naked, scarred expanses of his skin spring unbidden to my mind.

He has closed his eyes, leaning back into the pressure of my fingers as I let them travel up the small of his back.

"Fine," he mutters. "Talk."

I cease massaging the knots of muscle to give him a stern look, then use my grip on his torso to force him to sit on the bed. 

I sit beside him, my hands in my lap. 

I notice, with some satisfaction, that he stares at them, with just a hint of longing.

"Not _me_ talk. _We_ talk. It has to be a conversation," I reply, casting a glance at him. "I am...I am new to this, Dean. As you well know, I have little experience in relationships. In fact, I have never _had_ a meaningful physical or sexual relationship. Not while in full possession of my consciousness and memories. I...need your help, and I ask for your patience."

"Hold up--" He looks at my face, now, with panic in his eyes, "-- _Relationship_?"

My mouth is suddenly dry; my stomach dropping through the floor. "Perhaps I, uh...perhaps I misunderstood. This-this is why I thought it was important to--to talk about it." I pause, trying to dam the flood of wretched disappointment. "I apologise. I was mistaken. Of course you don't...don't want that."

His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his pupils have dilated as he looks at his feet. "No--I--I don't mean _no_ , Cas. I don't..." 

He wipes his palms along the legs of his jeans. I am told that humans sweat through their palms when nervous. Is that what is happening here? 

"I just wasn't expecting it," he adds. "That's all. I--you're my best friend. We already _have_ a relationship. But what _you're_ suggesting--that's--we'd be..."

He trails off, flustered, and I decide to try and defuse the situation with humour.

"I hope your other friends don't all do that thing I did for you."

It takes him a moment. He glances up at me searchingly, so I allow the corner of my lips to curve upwards, to confirm it was a joke.

He looks embarrassed, all the same. The poor man struggles with friendship and intimacy almost as much as we angels do.

"Haha. Hilarious," he grumbles. 

He's silent again, absent-mindedly touching the shoulder where I emblazoned my mark of holy fire into his flesh, before he adds, "Cas...you know how I said before that you're like a brother to me?"

I nod. "I remember."

"Well...that wasn't quite true. And just now, saying you're my best friend...I...that ain't quite right either.

"I don't know if I'm ready, Cas. I'm not...I'm not a very good option. You probably ought to shop around a bit more before you hitch yourself to this wagon." 

There's a definite dampness to his eyes as he says that. He looks at the ceiling to stop anything escaping, huffing a rueful laugh to keep his emotions at bay.

On impulse, I reach for his hand. 

I expect him to pull it away, but, surprisingly, he doesn't. He actually looks down at where my hand rests on his, and then turns his own palm up, interlacing his fingers with mine. 

"Dean." I am mesmerised by the way our hands fit together so neatly. "The last time I sought comfort in a human, it did not end well. And I think that a part of that might...might have been because I was...insincere."

"Yeah, well, might have been because she wasn't _human,_ too. Dumb bitch literally killed you."

Ah. I know what _this_ is. This was in the book. He is 'deflecting'.

"There is still a difference, Dean."

He grins, a ray of sunshine flickering back to life through his gloom. "You mean, you don't go down on all _your_ friends?"

"Only _you've_ had _that_ privilege," I tell him, which is true, and he goes silent, and very, very red, his mouth hanging open.

Naturally, this is the moment that there is a knock on the door, and, without waiting for a response, Sam flings the door open. 

The result is two equally stunned Winchesters, and Dean, master of subtlety, yanking his hand back so violently he almost falls off the bed.


End file.
